


Family Matters

by disaster_by_chance



Series: Capitalist Kings [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Creeper Hybrid Sam | Awesamdude, Duck Hybrid Alexis | Quackity, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Manberg Festival on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Post-Manberg Festival on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), awesamdad, quackity has a bone to pick with george, sam is just trying to be a good dad, they were adopted by sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28998501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disaster_by_chance/pseuds/disaster_by_chance
Summary: Quackity is pissed. George is frustrated. And Sam just wants to fix things back to the way they once were.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & GeorgeNotFound, Alexis | Quackity & Sam | Awesamdude, Sam | Awesamdude & Georgenotfound
Series: Capitalist Kings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2166960
Comments: 16
Kudos: 161





	Family Matters

**Author's Note:**

> Hallo! 
> 
> This is my first attempt at a Dream SMP based fic! I love the family dynamic between Sam, George, and Quackity so I had to write up this angsty fic despite the family mainly being chaotic and wholesome. As always, the characters mentioned are the characters in the smp storyline and not the content creators themselves, if that wasn't already clear! 
> 
> Anywho, make sure to follow Sam, Quackity, and George on Twitch.tv and I hope you enjoy the read!

It had been two days after the massacre that had been the Manburg Festival. 

Two days since Schlatt held that so-called ‘celebration of democracy.” Two days since the public execution of poor Tubbo. Two days since Sam watched as his son got blown up in the aftermath of Technoblade’s bloodlust. Two days since all of that chaos and disorder…

Sam tried not to think about it, but the sights and sounds were fresh in his mind. The loud crack of the firework, the explosion of color, the shrill screams that came from the podium as it blew up in red, white and blue all the while he watched helplessly from below. 

He didn’t know it until the smoke cleared, but some of those screams were from Quackity. It wasn’t till he realized that Techno was the only one coming up from the smoke, unharmed, that Sam knew something was wrong. That something didn’t go right. 

The second he got the chance, he ran around the stage and behind it towards the stairs that led up to the podium as the sounds of screams and more explosions from fireworks could be heard from the opposite side. He didn’t even want to know what Technoblade was doing, too focused on seeing what happened to Quackity after that execution.

He stumbled up the stairs, desperately grabbing onto the rail as he muttered ‘nos’ under his breath, all the way up, afraid of what he would come across once he reached the top. When he reached the last step he practically ripped the decorative red curtains down as he fumbled through them, his mind racing. 

Now on the stage, Sam had a clear view of what was happening below. Techno had gone on a rampage, a killing spree, firing his rocket launcher at anyone and anything within a 10 meter distance of him. He pried his eyes away from it to regretfully look at the scene left by the Blade on the wooden stage. 

On one end was the President, slumped over and bleeding from the head. His clothes were scorched and torn, with burn marks on the flesh underneath them, glistening a tender pink. He looked to be alive though, a wheezing breath coming from him and the slight twitch of a finger. 

In the middle lay Tubbo, his eyes wide and dull. Sam’s hand went to cover his mouth at the sight of the burned boy, laying in his own blood, his face and arms covered in red of all different shades. Sam had taken a step forward on shaky legs, but an ender pearl beat him, and suddenly Tommy was in its place, grasping onto Tubbo’s body with a heart wrenching sob. 

Not knowing what to do and remembering that he still hadn’t seen Quackity, Sam turned and let out a stifled cry. 

His son, his youngest son, laid limp on the other side of the stage, looking worse than the President but only slightly better than Tubbo. 

His sunglasses were broken, slipping down his bloodied face, and his clothes were torn and burnt with pink, raw flesh sizzling underneath them. His wings had come out, but it was clear that they weren’t in any good condition. Sam could see they were still clipped, likely a result of Schlatt, and since Quackity was up against the wall, it was likely they got crushed from the force that drove him back into the wall. 

But that wasn’t it, no. 

Sam was horrified to see the amount of blood slowly oozing out of his son’s lower body to the point where his already dark pants were soaked into another shade. 

Letting out a noise that sounded an awful lot like mob speak, Sam rushed over to his son, kneeling down and gently cupped his face. He soon found out that the explosion caused some heavy damage to one of Quackity’s legs and if he didn’t act quickly, he’d lose his son as well. 

So, using what he could, he bandaged the leg best he could and took off with his son carefully placed over his shoulder, using his trident as a means to make it home. He was too caught up in the moment to really think about offering help to Tommy, or to fight Technoblade, and not to mention, he was sure his son was going to die if he didn’t act quickly. 

That day was probably the first time Sam wished that he didn’t build his base so far away, but he was so grateful for the rain. Once they made it home, the bandages that Sam had used, some pieces of Quackity’s suit and his tie, were already two shades darker because of the blood and it didn’t seem to be helping all that much anymore. 

It wasn’t too much of a big deal, as Sam got to work right away, placing Quackity on an operating table and getting the medical supplies that he needed to fix his son up. Even Fran, alarmed at the commotion, came to see what happened. 

The two of them stayed up all night caring for Quackity's wounds. Sam addressed the leg first, taking off the old bandages, and seeing how bad the damage was. When he did, he held in a sob at the mangled sight, knowing that nothing was going to fix what happened to it. He was going to have to amputate it. 

It was a long night, to say the least. 

Sam spent the rest of that day up and working. He tried very hard not to let his emotions get the best of him as he worked, his mind racing with worries and thoughts about if the operation went wrong, or what Quackity would think when he woke up, if he woke up. All those anxieties festered inside of him and chewed on his insides as he tried to concentrate on fixing his son back up to as normal as possible. 

Ten hours later, Sam was finally able to have a break. He’s successfully amputated his son’s leg and managed to stitch up the other. He bandaged any cuts and put medicine on all the burn marks before carefully taking him out of the bloodied vice president suit and into a more comfortable outfit.    
  
He’d been lucky that Quackity stayed knocked out for the most of it, but Sam wasn’t quite sure when he would wake up again. He figured that he would just sit and wait, he couldn’t bear to leave his side. 

So, for the rest of the night, until Quackity woke up again, Sam sat across from him, his head in his hands as he mumbled to himself various words and phrases that all had to do with, “How could I let this happen?” while Fran laid next to him, whimpering every now and then, her eyes not leaving Quackity’s motionless body

Occasionally Sam would twist and pull on the beanie he’d taken off Quackity to better bandage his head wound, but he sat there, too drained to cry and too worried to sleep. 

It wasn’t until five hours later that Quackity finally woke up. 

When Sam saw Quackity’s eyes open and his head slowly turn to get a sense of his surroundings, Sam rushed to his side, acting before he could think. He’d spent the last couple of hours thinking about what he would do once Quackity woke up, he had a plan and everything, but the moment it happened, his mind suddenly went blank. 

The main reason for his mind blanking was the look on Quackity’s face. The slow change of a confused expression to being in Sam’s base to the sheer panic and horror when he realized why he was there. 

Sam tried to form words, tried to get Quackity to calm down, but he couldn’t. His usual comforting words failed him and all he was able to do was to watch as his son sat in stunned silence at the sight of him covered in bandages.

After the stunned silence came the screaming. It was different from what Sam was used to. The fake, playful screams that would be directed towards George to annoy him or startle anyone who was passing by. These screams were real, this time. Real and filled with pain and frustration. 

Sam tried to get Quackity to calm down, but the screams hurt and all he could do was flinch at them and try to lay Quackity back down before the boy did anything reckless. 

Letting out a distressed mob noise, Sam watched helplessly as Quackity started to hyperventilate, his eyes brimming with tears as he stared down at himself in complete shock and utter disbelief. He was muttering things under his breath, inaudible to Sam, but he could tell that he was repeating the same phrase over and over again before he yelled, “Fuck!” and grabbed a glass of water on the stand next to his bed and threw it across the room, the shatter making Sam flinch and Fran whimper and dart into her room.

Normally, Sam would’ve scolded his impulsive behavior, but he remained silent, wanting to give him some time to process his loss, though it hurt to watch as he struggled to understand what had happened to him. 

Maybe after thirty minutes, Quackity fell silent. 

He sat up in the bed, staring down at his hands with a clenched jaw as tears of frustration and fear rolled down his cheeks and onto the white blanket. 

Sam gave him a few minutes before he tried talking with him, tried to get him to drink some water, but Quackity wouldn’t budge. He stayed there, sitting up, and staring down at his hands, completely disassociating with reality. 

Drawing a shaky breath, Sam slowly backed away, understanding that this was the calm after the storm. He’d reached the point of acceptance, though it was a hard thing to accept. So, Sam decided to give him more time. 

He figured he’d spend his time crafting prosthetics for him. He told himself he would outdo himself, that no other project before this one would ever come close. He’d make these prosthetics, one for his leg, and the other for his clipped and damaged wings, absolutely perfect. It would take his mind off things, if only for a few hours. 

Before he left for his workspace though, he placed another glass of water and some food next to Quackity, who still wouldn’t speak or budge. Sam wasn’t even sure he was blinking. But he decided against saying anything, and instead gently reached out to place his hand on Quackity’s shoulder. 

When he did so, he could’ve sworn that more tears fell and his son let out a shaky breath, the first audible sound from him since his earlier breakdown, but he still didn’t say anything. 

Sam frowned and slowly removed his hand, wishing that he could hug him and hold him like he used to do when he was little. He wanted to go back to the time where he knew for certain that he would be able to protect his kid, no matter what happened, because now he wasn’t too sure. 

With those intrusive thoughts in mind, Sam headed to his workspace and didn’t emerge from it until the next morning with two perfectly crafted prosthetics. 

At that time, Quackity had passed out, his water and food was untouched, but at least he still wasn’t up. Sam knew he needed the rest. 

As he walked towards his son, Sam gently placed the prosthetics down in a nearby chest before cleaning up the broken glass from earlier. Once that was done as quietly as possible, he switched out the water and food for a fresher option before walking to the side of the bed and looking down at his son. 

He frowned and blinked back tears, the frustration and pain still on Quackity’s face as he slept, before he placed a gentle hand on his head and muttered an “I’m sorry”. Quackity didn’t budge, clearly knocked out, so Sam withdrew his hand and slowly walked back to where he’d been sitting before Quackity had woken up. 

And just like before, Sam sat with his head in his hands, his thoughts consuming him in the dark until the next morning. 

When the next morning rolled around, Sam woke up due to the gentle nudge of a cold nose from Fran, who was sitting anxiously next to him with what looked an awful lot like a frown. 

Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes, his whole body aching from sleeping on a chest, sitting up right, but he knew he wouldn’t have slept any other way regarding the circumstances. 

“Hey beautiful,” he greeted, giving Fran a few gentle head pats, to which she replied with the slight wag of her tail, obviously happy to see that Sam was, for the most part, okay.

Taking his hand back, Sam looked over to the bed and was surprised to see Quackity already up and facing him, with his one remaining leg dangling over the side of the bed. To Sam’s delight, he was also drinking water, and it looked like the pumpkin pie he’d left overnight had one or two bites in it.

Quickly getting to his feet, Sam rushed over to his son, startling him only a bit. 

“Jesus, Dad!” Quackity exclaimed, flinching at the sudden appearance of his dad at the side of the bed, “I thought we talked about this! Don’t sneak up on me!” 

Sam beamed, thrilled to hear him talking again, even though he was scolding him on Sam’s habit of jumpscaring people.

“Sorry, I just-” Sam scratched the back of his neck before clearing his throat, “H-how, how do you feel?” He knew it was a stupid question to ask. He knew how Quackity felt, it was obvious, but the phrase couldn’t help but slip out. 

Of course, Quackity didn’t answer. His eyebrows knitted close together as he stared down at the water, his other hand gripping onto the sheets as he clenched his jaw. He remained silent, long enough for Sam to apologize and take back his words. 

At the apology, Quackity finally spoke and shook his head, muttering a “‘S fine…”  Quackity glanced up at his Dad before sighing and placing the glass back on the table next to the bed, slamming it down a little louder than he should’ve. “Can I have my beanie?” He asked in a quiet voice, not looking at Sam. 

“O-of course,” Sam nodded, turning to get the beanie that he’d left on the chest he’d fallen asleep on the previous night. “Sorry for taking it off,” He apologized, knowing how uncomfortable his son got without it on, “I just…” his eyes scanned over the bandages wrapped around his son’s head, “I had to...Uh-”

“-‘S fine…” Quackity muttered, reaching out and grabbing the beanie from Sam’s nervously twitching hands. He looked at the beanie, blood stained from his head injury, before slipping it on over his bandages. At least Sam wouldn’t have to look at the patched up head injury anymore.

Quackity remained silent after that, seemingly spaced out as he stared down at his lap, mindlessly fiddling with his engagement ring, his hair not fixed. Sam frowned and looked down at his hand, unsure where to go from there until he remembered that he might have something to cheer Quackity up a little. 

“I made you something,” Sam said, trying for a smile as he perked up a bit. “I think you’ll like it.”   
  
Quackity always loved it when Sam made him things. That’s why Sam made him things all the time. He loved seeing Quackity light up at the mention of gifts, he loved how dearly his son treasured the things that he gave him, and he loved seeing how affected his son was whenever something happened to the gifts Sam gave him. 

Ever since he was a little duckling, Sam would give him gifts to see him smile. He knew how much it meant to him, so Sam hoped that maybe the gifts would help this time around too.

But Sam didn’t consider that his son wasn’t the same duckling he was when he was a child. Sam didn’t consider the circumstances and the difference in time. 

To Sam’s disappointment, and heartbreak, Quackity didn’t even blink at the mention of a gift. If it had been any different, he’d be grinning widely and running circles around Sam in excitement as he tried to guess what it was. Instead, he stayed silent, wrapped up in his thoughts, looking an awful lot like Sam whenever he had his so called, “moments” in the dark. 

“Quackity?” Sam tried, placing a hand next to Quackity as he tilted his head down a little to try and meet his son’s eyes. 

For a moment he didn’t budge, but when Sam tried again, he blinked and looked up. “What?” he asked. 

“I made you something.” 

“Oh.”

Sam inhaled quietly, withdrawing quickly as his heart sank at the response. It was so hollow, so...lifeless from what he was usually used to. It was almost terrifying to him. It wasn’t the Quackity he knew at all. 

But that wasn’t going to stop him. He was going to continue and push, still hanging onto the hope that he might be able to make the situation a little better.

“I-I figured that y-you’d need it,” he explained, backing away towards the chest where he had left the prosthetics. “I thought you’d appreciate it…”

He turned, back facing Quackity as his mind began to panic. He was never good in these kinds of situations. With his kids, he never had to worry about things like this, Quackity was always a lively person who didn’t give a damn about what happened to him, so what was wrong? And why was it so hard for Sam to ask what was wrong and how could he help?

With shaky hands, he never had shaky hands, Sam pulled the prosthetics out of the chest and carried them back to Quackity, still having the hope that he might see a sparkle in Quackity’s eyes at the sight of the golden mechanical wings or the insanely well crafted prosthetic leg, but Sam was asking for too much. 

Sam sat the items down next to Quackity and rolled up his sleeves with a shaky breath. “I figured you’d need these from now on…” He explained, unable to look at Quackity’s expression at the sight of the prosthetics. “It’ll take some time to get used to them, but if I know anything, I know it’s nothing you can’t handle.” 

“I don’t need those.” 

Blinking, Sam looked up and over at Quackity with the slight tilt of his head in confusion. “E-excuse me?”

“I don’t need those.” He repeated, Sam now noticing the finger that was pointing at the golden mechanical wings. 

Sam frowned and ran a hand down the metallic feathers before looking back at his son, “But your wings-”

“What about them?” He asked, looking Sam right in the eyes, “They’re just fine.” 

Looking past Quackity’s shoulder, Sam could see yellow feathers peaking out of bandages, bandages he put on there because of how damaged they were. What could Quackity possibly mean by not needing them?

“Quackity, your wings are not fine, you-”

“I don’t need those goddamn wings!” Quackity shouted, and as to prove his point, he tried to unfurl his wings, but they were still broken and bandaged so moving them caused him enough pain to prick his eyes with tears. 

“Don’t do that!” Sam yelped, seeing him force his wings to move, “They’re healing! The explosion blasted you into a wall and they broke! These wings aren’t a replacement or anything, they’re more so of a cast! They’ll help you heal faster and then-”

“I don’t need them,” Quackity repeated, rubbing his eyes with the back of his arm as he hissed in pain, “My wings can heal just fine on their own.” 

Sam bit the insides of his cheeks, knowing his son was right. He was always a fast healer, but the cast would speed up the process even more so. 

“Okay, yeah, maybe they’ll heal,” Sam nodded, still wanting his son to take the wings, “but they’re still clipped. Don’t think I don’t know that.” 

Quackity flinched only slightly. 

“With these wings,” he patted them, “with these, you’ll be able to fly again.”

“Fly where?” Quackity snapped, looking up at Sam. “Where would I fucking go?”

Sam opened and closed his mouth, unsure what to say, “A-away?” was the best he could come up with. 

“And leave Schlatt? Leave my duties as vice president? Leave my country?” Quackity yelled, narrowing his eyes. 

“Quackity!” Sam shouted, or more so, pleaded. 

“I’m not taking those goddamn wings, Dad!”

This was the first time Quackity had ever refused a gift from Sam.

And Sam, unsure what to do exactly, just repeated what he’d just done. 

“If not this, then please take this.” He moved his hand onto the prosthetic leg that he’d made to look incredibly similar to Quackity’s other leg, while making it nearly three times stronger and more durable. 

“You’ll need this for sure, please, Quackity.”

His son looked at the leg in disgust. Sam tried not to think back to when Quackity would look at Sam’s creations with wonder and excitement, he tried not to think about how much had changed in such a small time frame, how things were different now and how much Sam hated that they were. He tried so hard that tears threatened to fall when Quackity turned his head with a, “Tch.”

“I’m only taking it because I’m not a goddamn octopus or some shit.” he muttered, “Unlike the wings, I actually do need that.” 

Even though the words hurt, even though it wasn’t the reaction Sam was hoping, wishing, for, he still grinned, relieved that his son was cooperating, if only a little. 

“Okay, well, I’ve got to help you put it on,” He said, moving aside the wings to bring the prosthetic forward, “then I can help you get used to it.” He looked up and gave Quackity a smile. 

His son just nodded, muttering an “Alright,” looking a lot more nervous than frustrated like he previously was. 

Sam relaxed a little, feeling like he was finally getting somewhere after hours and hours of hitting a wall. He hated coming to a dead end, so now that they were getting somewhere, Sam felt a little better. 

Carefully, Sam started to fit the prosthetic into place, talking Quackity through the process in the excited voice he usually used when talking about his projects. He showed him how to attach and detach it, he showed him the different abilities that it contained, how it had the ability to shift when Quackity shifted and how it was basically armor so he didn’t have to worry about breaking it. 

Of course, Quackity didn’t say a single thing the entire time Sam talked and showed him how to operate his new leg. He just nodded occasionally, his eyes glossed over as he watched his Dad. Sam wasn’t even sure if he was actually listening, it was very likely that he wasn’t’, but Sam didn’t mind all that much. He just needed to talk and he could only do so when he was talking about his new trinket

“We could try walking now if you want,” Sam said as he reattached the prosthetic, giving Quackity a small smile, “it’ll be like when you first got your wings.” 

He watched, hoping that a smile might flash across Quackity’s face at the memory of the first time he got his wings. Sam cried proud tears for the longest time before he quickly crafted his own wings to try and help his son figure out how to fly. Eventually, they had to give up, with good reason, and Quackity got his lessons from Philza instead. But the most Sam got was another silent nod and two blinks from his son. 

Sighing, Sam gently helped Quackity off the side of the bed and onto his feet, slightly surprised at the fact that Quackity was even letting him help. After everything that had just happened, Sam wouldn’t have been surprised if Quackity dismissed Sam and tried to do things on his own, or just flat out refused to try and walk at the moment. 

But Quackity let him help, as if this was a silent way of letting Sam know that he wasn’t all that upset with him or anything. That he also thought that it would be like old times where Sam would help Quackity out with things when he could, something that Sam didn’t realize he should’ve cherished a little more until the horrifying moment where he saw the Manburg stage light up in color. 

For the next hour or so, Sam helped Quackity get used to his new leg. Helped him learn how to balance again, how to walk, how to sit down, he helped him with anything that he needed to relearn really. 

And, as usual, Quackity struggled with it. Already stressed and upset about his situation, having to relearn things didn’t help him at all. Despite being a shapeshifter, he was never one for change. He liked when things stayed the same, Sam knew that, so this whole new reality was, without a doubt, a rude awakening for Quackity. 

When things didn’t go well, when he’d stumble or trip and fall, he always cursed in frustration and would make a fist into the floor. Every time this happened though, Sam was already there to help him back up, ready to extend a hand, but Quackity would refuse to take it and insist that he was okay. Before, whenever Sam extended a helping hand out to Quackity, his son would always take it. Though Sam knew it always pained Quackity to ask for help, if someone offered it to him first, though, he wouldn’t hesitate to say yes.  While it was rather upsetting as a parent to have his kid refuse his help, Sam couldn’t help but be proud of his growth as an individual. To see Quackity grow up enough to want to do things himself and refuse Sam’s help, that was something. Sam figured that it’s what helped him gain his role as Vice President, something Sam was very proud of before this, but with that thought also brought the guilt and shame he felt as a parent. That hopelessness of not being able to prevent something so terrible from happening. 

Sam watched as Quackity stood up by himself with a look of determination to prove to himself that he didn’t need Sam’s help more than proving to Sam himself the fact. His eyes glanced down at the prosthetic he made and he frowned, the guilt and sense of loss washing over him in tides at the sight. 

He was proud of how far his son had come, he was, but this was too much, this was too far. Could he have seen his son grow and mature into someone who was more independent and strong in their ideals without also having to see his son struggle to stand up right again due to getting blown up? Was that so much to ask for?

‘To be fair, you haven’t really been around to prevent these things from happening,’ the usual doubting voice spoke up in a low hiss in the back of Sam’s mind. 

He frowned at its words and shook his head, muttering for it to go away, wanting to focus on his son and make sure that he didn’t fall on his face or anything. 

That stupid voice, Sam hadn’t heard from it for a while. He figured it was for the reason the voice was speaking off. Because his kids were grown and living their own lives, he wasn’t too involved in their lives, though he wanted to be. He respected them, so he retreated to his base and did his best to only help out when they asked. 

But now that this happened, Sam knew he would be getting more of that voice. 

“You’re doing an amazing job,” Sam encouraged, seeing Quackity back up on his feet and taking a few steps forward. He smiled and walked over, reaching out to steady him by grabbing his arm, but he hesitated and decided against it. Instead he let his hand drop to his side as he stepped back to give Quackity some space. 

Quackity didn’t respond, his face the expression he usually wore when he was serious and really determined to complete something. So really, he was lost in his thoughts, ignoring Sam as he took some shaky steps back to the bed. 

Sam stepped to the side and watched, tense and ready to lunge and catch his son if he fell or anything. But he didn’t have to worry about anything, considering that Quackity seemed to be doing just fine on his own. 

He had flashbacks from when he arrived at Philza’s house, ready to pick Quackity up and was met by the excited laughter of a son who just learned to fly. He was so happy to show Sam how fast and how high he could fly. Quackity had been so proud of himself that day. Sam doesn’t think he’s ever seen Quackity that proud ever again. 

Certainly, he wasn’t now. Staring down at his leg with narrowed eyes, hand gripping onto the side of the nightstand table Sam had put next to the bed to help him balance. Though he was determined and concentrating earlier, he was back to looking frustrated and on the verge of tears. 

Sam knew he had to say something, had to talk this out with Quackity and really be there for him. Just watching him and making him shiny toys wasn’t going to do the trick. Not anymore. 

He drew a breath, collecting his thoughts as he walked towards his son, hand outstretched. But before anything could happen, before Sam could start talking, or Quackity could refuse his pity and help, the loud sound of the base door slowly opening startled them. Sam jumped at the sound and turned around in confusion towards the entrance while Quackity just flinched and lowered his head, gripping the side bars of the bed a little tighter. 

Once the door had gone completely down, Sam was able to recognize the person who opened the door. 

Standing over the door before stepping inside while the door slowly shifted back up was George, looking out of breath with his glasses resting on the top of his head as he tried to catch his breath. 

“George!” Sam exclaimed, recognizing his eldest son. “What are you doing here?” he asked, quickly walking over to his son in alarm, worried about why he seemingly came over here in a rush. 

At the mention of his brother, Quackity narrowed his eyes even more. He gripped onto the bars till his knuckles were white and clenched his jaw together with a ‘tch’.

George looked up at his dad and gave a small smile to assure that he was okay, waving a hand in the air to dismiss him. Sam frowned, backing up a little with his hands out in front of him as George caught his breath and fixed his shirt. 

Once he was satisfied, he looked between his dad and his younger brother with a frown. Sam could tell that he was hesitant about what he was about to say. But he pushed through and managed to talk,

“I heard about what happened at the Festival from Dream,” George muttered, lowering his glasses back over his heterochromia eyes and pushing them up with a shaking finger. “I just thought that I-” he swallowed, glancing over at the bandaged wings of his brother under his glasses before looking back at his dad, “I-I just thought that I should, that I should come and check for myself.”

Sam dropped his hands slowly and smiled softly at his son. That was sweet of him to come and cheek up on them. He never saw George all that much, so it meant a lot to hear that. Sam turned, smiling, to Quackity, “Well, would you look at that! Your brother came to check on you!”

George’s nervous smile quickly turned into a frown as he looked away from Sam and at his brother. The bandaged wings and the prosthetic made George’s stomach churn and he quickly looked away, gripping onto his arm as he let out a shaky sigh. 

Quackity didn’t say anything, which made Sam frown a little and nervously glance back at George. He hated this kind of silence, it didn’t benefit anyone. 

So taking a step forward towards his youngest, Sam tried again. “Quackity,” he whispered, loud enough for him to hear, “George is here. He came to see you.”   
  
“Well, I didn’t say that exactly,” George mumbled, frowning as he kicked at the ground. 

Sam could see from Quackity’s feathers that the shapeshifter was trembling. When Sam got closer, he saw that Quackity was gripping onto the side bars of the bed so tightly that it was causing him to tremble. 

Head bowed, Quackity squeezed his eyes shut, fully aware of George’s entrance and Sam’s close presence. He gave a sharp, mocking laugh at the thought of the three of them back in the base again like old times, except now, things were totally different. This was ridiculous. 

Letting go of the bed and drawing a breath, Quackity rubbed the back of his hand harshly against his eyes, not caring about the sharp pains he got from the bruises and bandaged cuts that were on his face from the explosion. He let out a dark chuckle before raising his head and turning around to face George, using one hand to steady himself with the help of the bed.    
  
“Fi-fuckin-ally you decide to show up!” Quackity laughed, shaking his head. “Took you long enough!”

George looked up and narrowed his eyes at his brother, opening his mouth to retort when he saw the full extent of what happened at the Festival and suddenly he was speechless. It was like getting hit square in the face with a brink. The sight was even worse than what George imagined. 

Their dad did a good job of patching him up, that was for sure, but the sheer amount of ‘patching up’ made George look away in guilty and pity at the sight of his younger brother. 

“Yeah, fucking look away,” Quackity spat, “For once I’ll agree that I look fucking ugly.”    
  
“Quackity!” Sam scolded, his head snapping from George to Quackity, his eyes wide.

His son ignored him, and continued on, “This is all your fault George.” he motioned to himself,  _ “All  _ of this is your fucking fault!” 

George perked up at this, blinking in disbelief and confusion. “How is it my fault?” George shouted, turning back to look at Quackity, now angry. “How is it my fault that you got blown up, huh?” 

“How is it-” Quackity breathed out, “How is it my fault??” He laughed hysterically, putting a hand to his forehead in shock. 

“Well?” George demanded, throwing up his hands in frustration, still unable to look directly at his brother. Having the tinted glasses helped a ton with that. 

Quackity dropped his hand and glared at George, “You fucking know why! I’ve been telling you for the longest fucking time, but you never listen to me! You’ve never fucking listened to me! No one ever fucking listens to me!” 

“Quackity-” Sam tried, taking a careful step towards him, as if he was a frightened cornered animal with sharp teeth. 

“No, Sam!” Quackity snapped, turning to him, “It’s true! No one ever listens to what I have to say! I told this motherfucker, I  _ told  _ him that things would be so different if he didn’t sleep through the goddamn election!” 

“You’re  _ still  _ on that?” 

“Yes I'm still on that!” Quackity laughed, his voice breaking, to which he responded to by wiping his eyes again with the back of his hand. “Of fucking course I’m still on it, because it’s true!”

“You don’t even know that!” George argued, “There’s no guarantee that we would’ve won that stupid election! I didn’t even want to join your stupid party, but I did! I did! And guess what? Schlatt won! And who allowed him to do so, huh?” George then rolled his eyes at his fuming brother, “You just wanna blame me for all the shit things happening in Manburg. It’s not my fault you can’t run a fucking country, and run it well at that. No one should expect something like that from you!”

“George!” Sam exclaimed, his heart rate speeding up as he watched them back and forth like a tennis match, unsure about how to intervene and stop this. 

“You mother fucker!” Quackity shouted, slamming a fist down onto the nearby nightstand. The pain that shot up his arm as a result pricked his eyes, and his hand left too heavy to lift it back up to wipe the tears that were now threatening to fall. 

“You’re my older brother!” He yelled, “You’re supposed to look after  _ me _ ! Y-you, you’re supposed to be the one who stops me from making all these bad decisions! If you had stayed awake, o-or, or had told me that running for office was a bad idea, then  _ none  _ of this would’ve happened! We wouldn’t have run, we wouldn’t have won, we wouldn’t have put Schlatt into power, Marburg would’ve been, it-, well, L’Manburg again and things would’ve been fine!”

“-Quackity-” Sam spoke up, alarmed at how distressed Quackity seemed to be. He’d never seen his son like this. Even when Quackity came crying about breaking a gift Sam gave him, or losing the things Sam gave him, it was never this bad. And Sam didn’t know what to do. 

“I-if you would’ve, if you would’ve, fuck!” Quackity slammed a fist down again and rapidly blinked back his tears, “If you just played your role as a big brother, if you had done it right then the Festival wouldn’t have happened! If you weren’t such a piece of shit, Tubbo, T-Tubbo wouldn’t have been, b-been-” his voice dropped, “-been killed-” 

He shook his head and finally wiped his tears, “This wouldn’t have happened to me had you been a good brother. Had you been my big brother.”

Dropping his arm again, Quackity looked up at George and glared, his voice quiet “I spent so much fucking time looking up to you and protecting you. Yet you walk all over me and when I needed you the most, you just fucking left! I-” he motioned to himself, “I spent most of our childhood playing the big brother! I was the one who always had to stand up for your sorry ass! And I did it because I thought you were the coolest brother, but now I know you’re just shit! You’re shit George, actual dog water!” 

“Quackity, please-” Sam pleaded, glancing between his sons. 

“No, no,” George spoke up shaking his head after standing in silence, guilt, anger, and frustrations eating away at him while Quackity ranted, “he’s right. He’s absolutely right.” He folded his arms and glared across at Quackity, his mind racing with all the things he wanted to say to them, yet none of those things was an apology. 

“I have been a terrible brother. It’s not like I looked after you whenever Sam told me to. It’s not like I hung out with you when your friends weren’t around, because let’s face it, you’re annoying.” George responded sarcastically while Quackity opened his mouth to fire back, but George kept on talking, “Oh, and I’m so terrible for letting you into MY friend group and for joining your stupid political party when I could’ve just said no!” 

He threw up his hands in frustration again and pulled at his hair, “You’re just, you’re so infuriating! That’s what you are! How am I ever going to play the big brother when you claim that you’re the one who has been filling the role since we were kids, huh? How are you going to give me the chance!”

George started to pace a bit, his hands flying as he continued on, ignoring Sam’s pleas to stop, “You’re a hypocrite! You hate me beacuse I sleep so much, but you always keep me up at night because you want to play a game o-or, or do something stupid! Then you claim that I’m a shit older brother, yet you steal all the spotlight and don’t give me the opportunity to do so! And frankly, I don’t even see us as brothers!” he stopped and turned to look at Quackity, finally able to look at him without getting uncomfortable at how damaged he looked. 

“We aren’t even blood related! Sam found us both and just decided to take us in!” He reminded, missing Sam’s broken-hearted reaction to his words. “And if anything, I just see you as some annoying kid that I occasionally have to take care of. Why do you think I left the Administration? You didn’t need me! You were doing just fine in Schlatt’s cabinet, yeah? Got yourself a real nice husband, huh?” George was fuming and everytime Quackity tried to respond, George shut him down.

“You only asked me to join your party for clout, and look where that got you.” His voice went quiet, his eyes narrowed at Quackity as he stood a little bit closer to him than he did before. 

Finally seeing an opportunity to respond, Quackity opened his mouth, but he couldn’t find any words. Everything he’d wanted to say in the heat of the moment suddenly disappeared and left him standing by the bed with his mouth open and his mind refusing to listen to what George had to say. 

It was so unfair, it was so unfair to him. Quackity just didn’t understand why George wasn’t the brother that he always thought he was. He didn’t understand why that was the case. Why wasn’t he like Wilbur who sang songs for his brothers? Who did drugs with his brothers? Who was always there for them, ready to cheer them up with a joke or a tune? Why wasn’t he like that?

“You wanted power, you got it.” George muttered, looking down. “You told me that you formed the party in hopes of getting some power on the server and you told me that you wanted to combine our votes with Schlatt. And now you have power.” He looked up at Quackity and frowned. 

“This-” he motioned to Quackity, “-this wasn’t my fault. It was your own doing, your own wrong decisions that I had no obligation to prevent.” he lowered his hand, “And if you can’t see that, then you deserve what happened to you. It’s karma, bitch.” 

At those words, Quackity exploded. 

He pushed himself off the bed and ran towards George, his fist pulled back and ready to sock him in the jaw with an angry cry. George’s eyes widened at the action and he took a quick step back, but Quackity was faster than he thought and soon he felt a crack against his jaw and stumbled backwards with a frustrating yell. Quackity screamed in pain as he held his bandaged hand, the one he just punched George with, not realizing that it wasn’t fully healed. 

“Boys!” Sam exclaimed, finally stepping in before anything else could happen. He put himself in between them, his height giving him an incredible advantage over the two, and he managed to separate them before either of them could do any more damage. 

“Quackity! George!” Sam shouted, looking between them, “this has gone too far! You both have to stop!”

“You fucking bitch!” Quackity yelled, his arms flailing and wings trying desperately flapping as he tried to land another hit on George, “I don’t want to ever see your stupid face again!”

“Good!” George shouted in reply, holding his jaw as he backed away, “I never want to see your annoying self anyways! Go continue to ruin Manburg!”

“Don’t talk shit about my country!” Quackity fired back, the pain from all the movement becoming unbearable, “Go back to wherever the hell you came from! Go kiss up to Dream or whatever!”

“Oh that’s something, coming from  _ you _ !” 

“Boys!”

At Sam’s raised voice, the two went quiet. George moved away from them, a hand on his cheek as he glared at Quackity who was being held back firmly by Sam, the shapeshifter winced at the strong grip. The silence was deafening and the heavy atmosphere of guilt and frustration weighed heavily on Sam as he looked between the two. 

“Please,” he spoke, lowering his voice, “let’s talk this out.”

Quackity yanked himself out of Sam’s grip and sneered at George. “I don’t want to ever have to see you again.”

“Quackity!” Sam groaned, turning to narrow his eyes at him. 

“Don’t worry,” George muttered, “I’m leaving. I don’t even know why I bothered to come and see you guys anyways.” 

He took one last glance at his family, frowning and mouthing a ‘sorry’ to Sam, feeling guilty about how this would leave his dad feeling. Sam had given him so much, had always looked over him and Quackity. This probably felt like a betrayal. 

George looked at Quackity, bandaged and bruised, beaten and broken, and he turned away. 

“Tch,” Quackity muttered, watching as George left out of the corner of his eye as Sam tried to go after him, telling him to stay. Shivers ran down his body suddenly and he hugged himself to stop the shaking. Then when the door closed, Quackity dropped down to the ground and let out another frustrating yell as the tears started to flow again. 

All his built up frustration and anger over everything that’s been happening to him, he was sure that it was George’s fault. That it was his fault for not being there for Quackity. But now, saying it aloud, though it was satisfying to say it to his face, Quackity couldn’t help but feel even more empty than before.

He couldn’t admit that he was wrong though. Whatever he was feeling now was sure to be a result of the physical pain he was going through and that empty feeling would eventually go away. That maybe all he needed was to vent his frustrations to George, and now things would be fine. He just had to get back to Manburg.

“Quackity, Quackity, son, hey,” Sam’s comforting voice broke Quackity out of his thoughts as steady hands brought him back up onto his feet. “I-I know things are tough, but they’re going to be okay.” He said, “Things, t-things are going to be okay.” 

Glossing over the broken-hearted tone of voice, Quackity shoved himself away from Sam, shaking his head. “No! It’s not going to be fucking okay! Jesus fucking Christ Sam! I’m missing a goddamn leg!!” He motioned wildly at his prosthetic before the realization hit him.

Clasping a hand over his mouth, Quackity’s eyes widened in shock and horror. “I-I’m missing a goddamn leg,” he repeated, he repeated, this time in a whisper. 

Alarmed, Sam reached out a hand, making a motion for Quackity to calm down. “Big Q, d-don’t- You’re, you’re going to be just fine, okay? You hear me? You’re going to be just fine-”

“Oh my god,” Quackity muttered, dropping his head into his hands as his wings flapped nervously, his scarred hands tugging down on the beanie. “Oh my fucking god…”

“Quackity-” Sam tried, putting a hand on his shoulder, “-you’re going to be okay.”   
  
“No, I’m not going to be okay!” He shouted, looking up at Sam with a frightened look. “Look what happened to me, Dad!”   
  
“I know what happened!” Sam shouted, panic in his voice, “I was watching! I saw it happen! I was there! If I wasn’t there, I-I - If I was there, I-I don’t know what would’ve happened to you!”

Quackity blinked, tears pricking his vision as he looked up at the worried face of his Dad. He’d been used to the worried dad look by now, as he tended to be quite the trouble-making kid, who often came home crying because he lost something Sam gave him, but this expression was different. 

There was more hurt. More worry, more confusion, more uncertainty about what to do or what was to come. Quackity could tell that all of this was hurting Sam and usually he was able to hide his feelings for the benefit of his sons, but now Quackity could see through the mask. 

Ducking his head, Quackity let out a shaky sigh, not wanting to think about how much worse things might be had Sam not been there. He wanted to say thank you, he wanted to do that and hug him like he used to do when he was a kid, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

“I-I I have to go back.” He muttered, slowly lifting his head, his eyes lining up with the entrance of the base. 

“Go back?” Sam questioned, frowning, “Go back where? Manburg?”

“Where else?” Quackity questioned, turning to look at Sam in confusion. “Manburg’s my home, that’s where I live!”

Sam removed his hand at Quackity’s raised voice, his eyes widening a bit. Sure, Quackity was currently within the territories of Manburg, but he grew up in the Badlands so Sam would’ve thought that Quackity would consider the base more of a home than Manburg. 

“I-I just thought that you would stay here,” Sam muttered, motioning around the base with an extended hand, “rest here and heal. Then..” he trailed off, his voice getting softer, “...then maybe you’d stay…”

“Stay?” Quackity repeated, the distaste in his voice stinging Sam a bit, “Why would I stay? I can’t stay, I’ve got to get back!”

“You can’t go back!” Sam shouted, not angrily, just desperate, but Quackity’s eyes still widened. “After everything that happened to you-” he motioned to his son, “-you can’t go back! I can’t let you! W-what, what if something like that happens again?” He asked, “What if something like that happens and I’m not there to protect or save you from it?”

“I’m not a fucking child anymore, Sam!” Quackity snapped, his voice a little louder than what he wanted it to be. “You don’t have to be protecting me o-or looking after me all the time!” He lowered his voice a bit, but it was still loud enough to show how angry and frustrated Quackity was. 

“Quackity-”   
  
“I can handle myself! I can defend myself!” He continued, ignoring the fact that he was in a prosthetic and couldn’t properly stand an hour ago, “I don’t need your fucking pity!”

Sam flinched. 

“Plus, even if I did need your help, or your protection, it’s not like I could get it easily.” He muttered, shaking his head. “If you haven’t noticed, Dad,” The title carried more venom than it should’ve, “you live pretty fucking far away from everything! How are you going to get to me then? Huh? You’re the one who chose to stick with the Badlands instead of joining Manburg.” 

“I thought you liked living in the Badlands!” Sam argued, frowning, “I-I thought the Badlands was your home…”

Quackity went silent for a moment, as if contemplating the fact. It was true. He loved the Badlands, it was where he grew up, his first, and really only, real home. It was where he and George caused trouble for their Dad, where he messed around with Bad and Skeppy, where he played with Fran, it was where he had good memories. Well, mainly good. 

“Manburg,” Quackity muttered, “Manburg is my home.”

“Quackity, listen-”

“No!” Quackity shouted, rubbing his face with a groan. “No, you listen!” He dropped his hands and pointed at Sam who raised his own hands in surrender.

“For years and years, people just didn’t fucking listen to me, but they are now! They’re going to! Y’know why? Because I’m the mother fucking vice president, that’s why!” He yelled, “And that’s why I’ve got to go back. I’ve got a fucking country to run.”

Sam was silent, not at all used to Quackity looking and sounding so angry. He didn’t know how to react, how to snap Big Q out of it, all he knew how to do was to say yes to his son because that’s all he ever did. 

Bowing his head and sighing, Sam nodded, “I-I understand…”

Quackity raised an eyebrow, not really expecting that answer, but he was going to take it. “Good.” he nodded in a mutter, his shoulders relaxing just a bit as he glanced away from the figure of his dad. “Good…” He repeated, quietly to himself. 

He rubbed his arm and glanced over to where he’d been bed-ridden for a few hours before also glancing at the way that George had exited, a sharp pain hitting his chest as he inhaled sharply at the sights. 

He exhaled softly and slowly turned around, walking on shaky legs to grab a jacket that Sam had laid out for him on a nearby chest. 

Staring down at it, Quackity rubbed the top of it, his mind completely numb from the events that had happened in the past two days. He was slowly starting to accept what had happened to him, but he didn’t think he would be able to forgive George anytime soon because part of him still wanted to place the blame on him. 

With a small, “tch” at the thought of his brother, Quackity unzipped the jacket and slipped it on over his shirt before zipping it back up, his eyes catching on the golden winged prosthetic laying on his bed. 

It was quite the sight, Quackity had to admit it, but after admitting that he didn’t need Sam’s help, he didn’t want to take it. He would take the leg, yes, because he needed it, but there was no point in taking the wings. 

There was nowhere to fly away from anyways. 

He turned to look at Sam, who was watching him with a saddened, but understanding expression. He could tell he was frowning under his mask, and when their eyes met, Sam’s head did a small shake of disagreement. 

Quackity glared a little at this, taking offense. “I’m going back, whether you like it or not,” he said, “I have a country to run and I’m going to run it right. I’m going to make sure that something like this doesn’t happen again. I-I’ll, I’m going to change this.” He nodded. 

Sam sighed and shook his head softly as he rubbed the back of his neck. He took a few steps forward and placed a gentle hand on Quackity’s shoulder, taking note of how he tensed up a little at the touch. 

“Look, you know I’m proud of you, right?” Sam spoke in almost a whisper. “I’m proud of you being a vice president and looking over a country, I am!” He nodded to emphasize it. “But you have to understand that I don’t agree with what you’re pushing. You know that the cabinet is unstable, look what they did to Tubbo!”

Quackity closed his eyes. He didn’t want to remember what happened to Tubbo. He’d barely seen it, but he could imagine what happened to the poor boy just based on what happened to him. 

“I-I hope you do change it. Find a way to change things so that something like this doesn’t happen again.” Sam muttered, “W-we can’t have something like this happen again.”

Opening his eyes, Quackity gave Sam one last look before stepping back, “It won’t.” 

Sam lowered his hand and smiled sadly before giving a small nod, “Good…”

“I’ll talk with Schlatt, we’ll work something out,” Quackity muttered, glancing down at the floor for a quick second before quickly looking back up after his gaze caught sight of his fake foot. 

“But I don’t see why you care,” he added, walking away from him, “Manburg isn’t your country.”

“I care about you, Big Q!” Sam blurted, “You’re my son! I want to look after your wellbeing!”

Quackity paused, stopping in his tracks. 

Those words weighed heavy on him and he had to take a breath before he walked to get the fresh pair of shoes on the floor, next to his bed. As he slipped them on, he knew Sam was telling the truth. Ever since Quackity was a part of this family, Sam had always cared for him. It was why he had this prosthetic now. 

But for whatever reason, Quackity shook his head at the words and headed to the exit, George’s words echoing in his head. 

“We’re not even blood-related, Sam.”

He pressed the button to open the exit and waited as it opened, Sam standing in a stunned silence behind him, torn between letting Quackity have what he wanted and letting him go or disrespecting his wishes and making him stay. But he was too broken-hearted to make a decision.

Once the door was down, Quackity drew a breath and continued his walk out of the base, away from his home, out of the one place where he could’ve been completely safe. He was too determined to do his job, too eager to have this taste of power, and too powerless to say no to his wants. 

Not even looking back, fearing he’d stay if he did, Quackity walked through the Nether portal out of Sam’s property with plans to never return. 

Meanwhile, Sam stood, alone, in the middle of the living room of his base. Helpless, confused, hurt, and frustrated at himself. For the first time in his life he felt like a full blown creeper instead of the hybrid he was and feared blowing up the area around him as a result of all the emotional stress he was under.

So, instead of fixing this problem, Sam decided to fix a project and retreated into the welcoming darkness of his workshop, numb from the events. 

There, working in the darkness, Sam decided it was for the best that he remain out of his childrens’ lives. He’d let them grow on their own and find their own path while he continued to distract himself with projects. 

It was just how things had to be. 


End file.
